A House Is Not a Home
by oldmcpiper
Summary: When the Charmings decide to move to a bigger house, Emma contemplates saying goodbye to the only place she's ever considered home. One-shot for now, but may expand later.


**A/N: This story is dedicated to Piccicca** **for always being willing to discuss OUAT with me and for always encouraging me to write :)  
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Emma Swan was no stranger to moving. During her time in foster care, she'd quickly lost track of the number of houses she'd lived in. Sometimes she didn't even bother to unpack, knowing the situation would only be temporary. Even after she'd left the system, she never remained in one place for long, opting instead to leave town before she could grow too attached. And she'd certainly never been one to get overly sentimental about goodbyes. Until now…

Emma finished taping the box she'd been working on and set it on the kitchen counter with a satisfied sigh. She was sick of packing. Gathering her own belongings had been simple— she'd never acquired much stuff and she'd had plenty of practice packing what little she had—but packing up the rest of the apartment proved to be more of a challenge. For someone who'd essentially been frozen in time, Mary Margaret sure had collected a lot of junk, and the addition of all of Henry and David's possessions did not help matters.

Earlier that morning, the family had finished loading the moving van and Henry and David headed to the new house where, with the help of the dwarves, they were currently unloading all the furniture. Emma and Mary Margaret stayed behind to gather the few miscellaneous items that still remained. Her mother was currently cleaning out the bathroom cabinets, while Emma packed up what remained of the cookware. The car was already loaded down with boxes they'd packed this afternoon, and once they finished this last set, they would join the men and spend their first night in their new house.

Deep down, Emma knew this move was for the best. Once she and Mary Margaret returned to Storybrooke, it had quickly become clear that the little apartment was not suited for a family of four. While the obvious solution was for her and Henry to get their own place, when she'd broached the topic, her parents and Henry had been adamant that they stick together. In truth, she was secretly relieved; she'd just found her parents, and the idea of being separated from them just seemed like too much to handle at this point.

The new house was much bigger, meaning she and Henry would no longer have to share a cramped bedroom. She loved her son, but she valued her privacy, and Henry was really too old to be sharing a room with his mother. Plus the additional bathroom would greatly simplify the family's morning routine. There was even an extra bedroom should Mary Margaret & David ever decide to have another baby. Emma shook her head, quickly pushing away the surprisingly painful thought; she could only handle one major life change at a time.

As she waited for her mother, she absentmindedly ran her hand along the kitchen bar, remembering all the nights she'd leaned against it, watching as her roommate prepared dinner. They'd swap stories about their day—Mary Margaret sharing the latest funny thing her fourth graders had done and Emma telling of her adventures as sheriff. As simple as the tradition was, it was a kind of companionship she'd never before experienced, and something she'd come to look forward to.

"All done?" her mother's voice caused her to jump, yanking her from the memories.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Just waiting on you," Emma replied, scooping up the box she'd just packed and holding it up as proof.

"You seemed lost in thought," the brunette said conversationally as she crossed the room carrying a box of her own. Emma could tell she was curious, but trying not to pry, something she appreciated deeply.

"I was just thinking about how nice it'll be to have a dishwasher rather than having to do the dishes by hand in the sink," she responded, trying to cover with a joke.

"Funny, I don't recall you ever doing any dishes," Mary Margaret remarked playfully, laughing at her daughter's sheepish grin. "Come on. Let's take these last boxes to the car and then I'll come back and lock up."

"Um, you go ahead; I'll be down in a sec," Emma hedged. "I'll lock up," she quickly tacked on, hoping her mother would just wait for her in the car. Mary Margaret eyed her thoughtfully for a moment, but finally nodded and left the apartment. Emma listened to the sound of her footsteps receding and then slowly glanced around the empty room. Everywhere she looked, she was met with a memory.

She eyed the spot where the table used to stand, remembering that first night when she'd come to pay Mary Margaret back her bail money and had ended up staying for hot chocolate—which, as a pleasant surprise, contained cinnamon. Trust was a rare concept in Emma's world, and she was astonished to find that this woman who knew so little about her seemed to have such faith in her. She found herself being uncharacteristically open, discussing Henry and gratefully accepting the brunette's advice. Mary Margaret remarked that she felt as though she'd met Emma before, and Emma had to admit that she felt a strange kinship with the woman as well; at the time, she'd chalked it up to the fact that the schoolteacher was the first person in as long as she could remember who seemed to show a genuine interest in her life without wanting something in return.

Glancing at the downstairs bedroom, she thought back to the night she'd laid on Mary Margaret's bed, telling her about finding Ava and Nicholas' father and wondering what that would feel like. As usual, her roommate had been understanding and supportive, encouraging her not to give up in her quest to find her parents. Emma had been a little nervous to admit Henry's theory about Snow White being her mother, but after the crazy day she'd had, she found herself wanting to share. She chuckled wryly as she remembered her friend's teasing observation. _You do kind of have my chin. _Since the curse had been broken she'd been amazed at all the similarities—in both looks and personality—between her mother and herself, and she marveled at the fact that she had not seen them before.

Finally, she climbed the stairs to the loft that had served as her bedroom. Smiling, she recalled the first night she'd come to live with Mary Margaret. It had taken her ten minutes to swallow her pride and—if she was being honest—work up the nerve to knock on the apartment door. What if the woman was just offering to be polite? What if things were awkward or they didn't get along? But all of her fears had been assuaged the moment the brunette opened the door; her warm smile and inviting demeanor had quickly put Emma at ease. At the time, she'd meant for it to be a temporary arrangement—just a place to crash until she found a vacancy elsewhere in town—but as time wore on, she found herself making excuses to stay a few days longer. Eventually days melted into weeks, and before long, Emma could not imagine leaving the little space she'd come to call her own. Glancing around, she couldn't help but feel a little emotional. _Get it together, Swan! _she silently commanded, but the room quickly blurred behind the tears pooling in her eyes.

"Emma," her mother said quietly. Emma gasped; she'd been so wrapped up in her reverie that she hadn't heard the woman reenter the apartment. "You ok?" she asked softly as she took in her appearance.

"Just got a little dust in my eye," Emma said dismissively. She didn't have to look at Mary Margaret's face to know that the woman didn't believe her pathetic lie—her mother was a compulsive cleaner who always kept the house spotless—but thankfully, the brunette chose not to comment. Instead, she slipped her hand into Emma's and sighed.

"I'm really going to miss this place. It's funny, if I had been in this position a year ago, I don't think I would have given it a second thought. Oh sure, I would have hated the hassle of moving, but I'm not sure I would have missed the apartment itself that much. I don't think I truly started to think of it as a home until you arrived," she explained, giving the blonde's hand a squeeze. Emma felt a slight lump forming in her throat, both at the woman's words and at the fact that her mother's sentiments so closely mirrored her own.

"I know what you mean," she replied, clearing her throat in an attempt to rid her voice of the slight quiver she heard. "I've never been one to get attached to things, especially houses, but I am definitely sad to leave this apartment. When you took me in, this place was nothing more than a way to escape the crick in my neck that I got from sleeping in my car, but thanks to you, it quickly became so much more than that. It's stupid, but this is the only place that's ever felt like home, and I wish we didn't have to leave," Emma said, blushing at her admission.

"It's not stupid, Emma," Mary Margaret reassured, knowing how difficult it was for her daughter to express her emotions freely. "We've shared some wonderful memories here, and it's only natural to want to hang onto that experience. But over the past year, I've come to the realization that home is with those you love. My home is wherever you are, and wherever Charming and Henry are. And right now, that's at our new house. So come," she urged tugging on Emma's hand. "Let's join them, and we can begin to make new memories." Emma contemplated her mother's words as she allowed the woman to lead her down the stairs.

"Besides," Mary Margaret continued as they once again entered the kitchen area, "just think of how much more privacy you'll have now that you no longer have to share a room with Henry. After all, I know you're not exactly the roommate type," she joked, winking at Emma.

"No," Emma agreed, shooting her mother a shy smile, "but I'm finding that maybe I'm the _family_ type."

Mary Margaret returned the smile, obviously trying not to get too emotional. Emma knew they still had a long way to go, but these little moments of openness were becoming easier and more frequent. The brunette quickly reached up and cupped Emma's cheek, before scooping up the box she had left on the bar and exiting the apartment.

Emma sighed, feeling lighter than she had since the day her parents had proposed the idea of moving. With one last glance at the empty room, she followed the woman from the apartment, and carefully pulled the door shut. Slipping her key from the lock, she turned and joined her mother at the top of the stairs.

"Let's go home."

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**A/N: I originally conceived this as a one-shot, but as I said, I may continue it if I have time/people seem interested.**


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